


Hellfire

by Star_Going_Supernova



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, BAMF Castiel, Canon Compliant, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester From Hell, Castiel's Wings, Flashback/Memory, Fluff, I don't think there's angst, If there is I didn't mean to, Mentions of torture (not explicit), group hug, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova
Summary: Thanks to a creature of unimportant origins, the boys are witness to a memory of Castiel's most life-changing moment: the first time Cas met Dean, down in the pits of Hell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh this is terrifying, I've had to work myself up to this for weeks)
> 
> Please excuse anything that doesn't line up with canon, just call it creative license. I did Teen and Up because of the brief mentions of torture and killing, but it's nothing explicit or described in detail. 
> 
> This is just my take on how Cas saved Dean, and how Dean and Sam would find out about it. It was actually inspired by a Star Trek fic, but y'know, brains are weird.
> 
> Also, could be read as Dean/Cas, but definitely doesn't have to be.
> 
> I don't own Supernatural, but if I did, we'd see a whole lot more angel wings, and not just when they died either. (wings are one of my favorite things ever in existence)

When the creature told them that it would make them relive their most painful, life-changing experience, Sam and Dean expected many things.

They expected to see Hell from one of their collective experiences there. They expected to see Lucifer, or maybe Michael. They expected to see the end of the world.

They did not expect to see Castiel.

In all honesty, neither hunter had considered that the most profoundly painful, life-altering memory between the three of them would come from their angel, despite the many years more of life that he had experienced.

It didn’t look like the Cas they knew, but there was a strong enough resemblance, alongside an unshakeable knowledge that this was him— before he had a human vessel— for them to identify him. Their mortal eyes couldn’t quite perceive his trueform entirely, even in a memory, leaving the gaps in their vision filled with his more human appearance. 

Castiel was in Hell. There was no way it could have been anywhere else, and they _(recognized it)_ knew from the moment they saw his surroundings.

He was light. Pure, blinding light, with brilliant pearly wings stretched far and wide. A gleaming gold halo shone around his head. Four eyes, each as blue as his grace, gleamed from his partially human face. 

Outside of the memory, Cas’ body arched and he screamed, in time with a massive shadowy _thing_ falling upon his trueform. 

They battled, an enormous, flaming angel blade flashing in Castiel’s grip. His sword impaled the foul creature, but not before it raked its jagged claws down his side. 

The angel barely paid any attention to the wound, instead flying further down, pushing through the layers of Hell. 

Without warning, there were suddenly two dozen demons converging on him. He fought and fought and fought until they were all dead. For a breathless moment, Castiel stood among their corpses, bleeding grace.

And the brothers felt his remembered pain. It was unimaginable. 

After another layer and more dark creatures that shrieked their displeasure and hatred, that dove at him with poisoned claws and needle-teeth, lashing tongues and tails, the angel broke through into a cavernous stretch of eternity crisscrossed with chains and meathooks.

The souls that were trapped there, impaled, suspended, and tortured, wailed and cried and begged for death upon death.

The brothers felt Castiel’s heart go out to them, wishing more than anything that he could ease their suffering… but he couldn’t. His grace writhed and reached, desperate to help, and he was forced to forge on, flying past anguished and miserable souls.

With an almighty _crack_ , he landed at what seemed to be his destination, crouching. This rack had two demons stationed at it, and the one standing further back from the tormented soul whirled to face Castiel. 

Ancient words heavy with anger and fear wove across the acrid air from the demon. Though they didn’t recognize the horrifically shifting face of the foul creature, the brothers could see the glazed white eyes. 

It was afraid, the hunters realized. It was afraid of Castiel, though this didn’t stop it from rushing at the angel, wickedly barbed blade already dripping blood.

They fought, back and forth, and the other demon didn’t so much as turn around. 

After yet another ineffectual swipe of its blade, it sneered something, and booming Enochian burst out of Castiel’s mouth in response, sending the demon to its knees, quivering and trembling and _terrified_. 

They watched as Cas took a step towards it— sword raised to deal the killing blow— and it did nothing but stare up at him, petrified. 

Cas spoke once more in thundering Enochian, and the demon shrieked as it was cleaved clean down the middle. He stepped over it’s smoking remains, wings lifting to avoid being dragged through the filth.

The angel approached the other demon, still torturing away at the rack. He watched for a moment as the demon peeled the woman’s face off. She screamed and thrashed and cried. 

A tendril of Castiel’s grace trickled forth and sent her into blissful unconsciousness. 

The demon immediately whirled, blade in hand and teeth bared, black eyes narrowed in pure hatred.

As much as they could— each being more of an essence simply observing a _(nightmare)_ memory than a physically present person— Sam gasped, horrified, while Dean felt bile rising in his throat. In the physical world, Cas was sprawled unconscious and unaware, blood leaking from his nose. 

The demon that had been torturing the woman under the white eye’s careful watch was Dean himself. 

Soft, gentle Enochian tumbled past Castiel’s lips. Something deep and dark shuddered within Dean. He snarled like a wild animal and lunged at the angel, blade stretched out. 

Cas didn’t fight back. He merely defended himself. (The brothers thought they’d be sick.)

Other demons arrived, screeching and growling as they moved to attack. With a gentle nudge of power, Castiel sent Dean skidding backwards so he could fight the newcomers. 

He smote his opponents left and right, wings beating against the scorched ground. Even in the dreary darkness, they were beautiful. 

One of the last demons standing against the angel made a complicated hand gesture. Hellfire flared around it, and the others screamed as they burned away from the sheer proximity of the unnatural flames. It sneered as it sent it roaring towards Castiel.

The brothers watched as their angel prepared to simply fly out of the way. They watched as he hesitated, as some realization occurred to him, and then instead, whirled around and flared his pristine wings wide and high. 

They watched him face Dean as the Hellfire raged against the backs of his feathers instead of blasting past and consuming the hunter-turned-demon. 

And they felt the blistering pain that surged up and down his spine, the searing heat that spread all across his shoulders and arms. Castiel’s wings took it all, and they took it all for Dean.

It felt like an eternity, watching Cas howl in agony. But he didn’t falter, never even considered moving away and leaving Dean to face the flames.

When it ended _(finally, finally)_ , Castiel whipped around to smite the remaining demon, disappearing into the cloud of smoke.

And when he emerged… it was like something out of the holiest of nightmares. 

His halo burned brightly behind his head and his eyes still glowed like grace (and mercy, so, _so_ much mercy). He was still light, illuminating even those depths of Hell. And his wings were still intact and they flared around him, victorious. 

But they weren’t white anymore. Instead of the gleaming, pearly iridescence, Castiel’s wings were a deep, glittering obsidian. There was a midnight-purple, raven-blue sheen that gleamed across them, and little shining specks like stars dotted the inky feathers. Smoke curled up around them, and neither of the brothers had ever seen something so beautifully heartbreaking. 

In the memory, Dean cowered as Cas approached him. He didn’t fight because he was too afraid, but he didn’t run because there was still something that just-barely resembled humanity resting behind his rib cage. And that something desperately wanted to be near the angel’s heavenly glow. It wanted, more than it’d ever wanted the pain of torture to stop, to be saved. 

Castiel reached out and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. It burned his human flesh, ripping a scream from his throat. 

At the angel’s touch, the black drained from his eyes and the horrible darkness that sloshed through his very being fled, shrieking in fear and pain. Dean collapsed, and his knees would’ve fallen to the blood-covered ground if Castiel hadn’t caught him up. 

The brothers watched as their angel extended his grace and stitched the hunter back together, love and care in his every move. Piece-by-piece, Cas remade Dean’s soul, leaving everything demonic behind. 

When he was done, the angel cradled his charge close, wrapped in heavenly power. Castiel bent his knees and leapt into the air, wings flapping wildly, ecstatically, up-up-up.

He soared past demons and abominations and twisted, blackened souls, all the while singing out in joyous Enochian. 

Finally, he burst through the Earth right by Dean’s grave, nothing more than a shimmering ribbon of light dancing through the twilight sky. 

There was a storm that night— one of crashing rain and booming thunder, grace-bright lightning streaks that were indistinguishable from the rejoicing angel that had, if only for those few hours, taken over the atmosphere. 

As sunrise dawned over the land, the brothers watched as Castiel curled around the empty remains of Dean’s body in his grave, still protectively clutching his righteous soul. Cas remade his flesh and bones, digging through the dirt to make him whole again. And when he was done, he oh-so-gently returned the rescued soul to where it belonged. 

There was a great flash of light, a blast of heat, and a roaring crash. When the brightness had faded away, the surrounding land was scorched and damaged, trees collapsed away from the epicenter.

Above the weathered wooden cross, halo glittering and blackened wings flared, stood Castiel.

Their angel knelt down and shoved his hands through the dirt. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment—

_(The Winchesters couldn’t see it, but he was giving Dean that final push, igniting the spark, filling his lungs with air. They couldn’t see it, but it was the moment he came back to life.)_  

—and minutes later, Dean was clawing his way to freedom and Castiel was watching, silent and invisible but nearly trembling with happiness. 

That’s when the brothers became aware of a staticky noise that they instinctively knew had started up as soon as Cas had broken out of Hell. 

They listened carefully, trying to make out the words. As soon as they really focused on it, it became clear. 

Cas had been shouting from the moment he had returned Dean to the surface. It was a sound of joy and elation and it carried so much more emotion that they had ever believed their angel friend to be capable of. He hollered at the top of his angelic lungs, right into the ether and beyond, and he hadn’t stopped for a single moment after he started. He had continued through the storm that had been him, through digging past the worms to grip Dean tight and finish raising him from perdition:

**_Dean Winchester is saved!_ **

With those words echoing in their ears, the world abruptly vanished around them, leaving only an inky black void in its wake. 

A new voice, distant and faint, cried out in fear, “No! That’s… that’s impossible! You can’t be awake, you’re under my control— no… no! Stop!”

In a great rush, awareness flooded back into the brothers and they reflexively jerked up at the dying shrieks of pain. 

Across the room, Castiel leaned forward on the angel blade buried in the chest of the creature, blue liquid streaming down its front. 

“Impossible,” it gurgled one last time, blood bubbling out of its mouth. In lieu of a response, Cas simply twisted and jerked his sword, and with a great burst of light, the creature died. 

After removing his weapon with a wet _squelch_ , he dropped his hand to his side. He huffed once, and then turned to face the Winchesters.

Blood dripped from his nose and possibly his mouth, though it was hard to tell with how much of it there was. His eyes _(blue as grace)_ were weary. 

Sam sucked in a breath. “You broke free of it? Of the memory?” he asked.

Cas nodded once, moving towards them. Tension laid across all three of them, heavy and unyielding. 

As the boys pushed themselves to their feet, Sam cleared his throat. “So, um…”

Dean jerked towards their angel, effectively plowing right over his brother’s weak attempt to distract them from— or possibly diffuse— the near-palpable pressure. “Was that all real? You, fighting those demons, me attacking you, _your wings_ … that all happened?” 

Castiel looked away. “Yes,” he answered gruffly. “That was all real.”

Dean dragged a hand down his face, looking down in concealed distress. “Cas, man… your _wings_ …”

“It was worth it,” the angel told him matter-of-factly. “I’d do it again, for either of you. A thousand times over.”

Sam forcibly turned away at his admission. After all they had done, how did they deserve a friend like Cas? His brother also had to take a few moments to himself.

Finally, the elder hunter asked, voice hoarse with disbelieving pain, “How long?”

Castiel tilted his head and frowned. 

Knowing what he was trying to ask, Sam clarified for him, “How long were you in Hell before you found Dean?”

With a slight nod of understanding, Cas thought for a moment, eyes drifting. His gaze eventually dragged itself back up to them, flickering back and forth between one brother and the other. “I spent thirty-nine years fighting to reach you. I had my garrison with me, but we became separated after a decade or so.”

With no other response forthcoming, Dean said, somewhat weakly, “I was down there for forty.”

Castiel nodded. “Before you ever gave in to the torture, I was sent to raise you. By the time we’d discovered what had happened and were prepared to lay siege to Hell, the equivalent of a year had already passed for you.” He frowned once more. “I used grace to speed up our departure, but regrettably, I could not do so as I looked for you, Dean. Hell is large and there were many abominations that I was forced to fight before—”

Cas immediately cut himself off as Dean crashed almost gently into his chest and wrapped his arms around him, clutching the back of the angel’s trenchcoat desperately.

“Thank you,” he said lowly. “For getting me outta there. I don’t think I ever said it before, but, y’know… thanks.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed as he stepped forward and squeezed his brother and their angel from the side. “Thanks, Cas.”

After blinking in surprise a few times, Castiel managed to wiggle into a position best for wrapping an arm around both of his humans. “I’d do it again,” he reminded them, “for either of you.”

And in that dingy room with a creature dead in the corner, both Winchesters felt— truly felt for the first time— as their very own, self-appointed Guardian Angel wrapped his beautifully burnt wings around them, shrouding the three in feathers like galaxies and love like no other. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a challenge for anyone who can spare a minute to comment: please tell me your favorite line (and also why, if you're up for it). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
